


A way of life

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [12]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Cannibalism, Gang Initiation, Gen, Gore, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-07 10:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "We ain't a gang, motherf-cker, we're a way of life!"Da Kurlzz, Scene for Dummies.Matty and Johnny initiate the rest of the band into a blood-bond. A pact born in flesh, smoke and pain.





	1. We ain't a gang

**Author's Note:**

> This snuff stars:  
> Dylan (Funny Man)  
> Matty (Da Kurlzz)  
> Johnny (Johnny 3 Tears)  
> Danny (Danny)  
> Jorel (J-Day)  
> Charlie (Charlie Scene)
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think the guys have done, or have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish.
> 
> This comes from AwokenMonster's prodding in the reviews of "Not with my [teeth]".

Dylan went first, as decided by a quick round of spin-the-bottle. He dumped his shoes and jeans in a pile by the sofa and sat in the chair. Matty guided him to sling his leg over the arm of the chair, and crouched to fasten the strap down.

“Fuck, man,” Dylan hissed, “I ain’t that bendy.”

“I managed,” Johnny said. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d walked into Matty’s warehouse.

The warehouse was set up like an open apartment, complete with three mismatched sofas around a coffee table, a kitchenette, a made bed, and a wall-less bathroom. A nice but clearly quite old rug sat under the sofas, lino was messily stuck down in the kitchenette and bathroom area, the rest of the floor left plain, cold concrete. The lights buzzed naked on their chains, and the only metal doors had been pulled closed.

The chair sat away in the back, barely six paces away from the wall. It was a reinforced metal chair, bolted down, with a series of dense belts for straps up and down its frame. Blood clung to the concrete around it, reaching to the wall like smeared tendrils. Five large oven dishes full of salt sat around the chair, open and ready.

Johnny was laid across one of the sofas, staring up at the empty roof. They all left him to it. First aid kits, burn gel, a mirror and baggies of pure white sat over coffee table. Danny was pacing the rug nervously, Jorel and Charlie sitting on another sofa together half-managing a conversation about sloppy blow jobs as Jorel cut lines onto a hand mirror.

Matty gave Dylan’s shoulder a pat. Dylan was strapped down with each leg slung over the arms of the chair, exposing his inner thighs. His arms were chained behind him over the back of the chair, and he was breathing hard and heavy now.

“How bad does it hurt?” he called.

“A fucking bitch-load,” Johnny called back. He finally got up and took the mirror from Jorel. He headed over to Dylan and guided his head to snort it back up.

“This better be some good shit, Joe Doe,” Dylan called.

“Only the best,” Jorel called back. Charlie managed a laugh. Danny managed a glare.

Matty rattled in the kitchenette, checking the knives over. A large palette knife had been shoved into the grill, and now glowed a dim red. A smaller, curved knife seemed to glint as he checked it once again. He’d spent almost an hour sharpening it, Johnny grinding his teeth in time, as the rest had gathered up the kits and coke.

“You ready?” Johnny said.

“Are you?” Matty said.

“What? No, not again.”

“Someone’s gotta cut me, too. I don’t think anyone else is gonna be able to.”

Johnny blinked at him. “You’re saying you want me to chain you to a chair and cut you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Clever boy.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“The fuck kind of question is that right now?”

Johnny sighed. Matty walked over, hair tied back, smaller knife in his hands. Johnny tensed, stepping out of the way and circling behind Dylan.

“Jesus, man,” Dylan mumbled.

“That kicking in, Dilly-doo?” Matty said.

“Yeah-eah.”

“Good.”

Matty knelt between Dylan’s legs and gestured Johnny to follow him. Charlie whistled from across the warehouse and Johnny shot him the middle finger. Matty pushed on Dylan’s boxers, tucking the leg-holes as high as he could get them. He pushed one of Dylan’s legs back.

“Close to the crotch as you dare,” Matty said.

Matty tucked the blunt side under the hem of Dylan’s boxers and pressed in until blood began to well. He pulled down slowly, along the inside of Dylan’s thigh. Dylan sighed a moan, head thrown back like he was receiving the best oral of his life. Blood dripped down his thigh, onto the chair and through the slats onto the concrete.

Matty took the piece of skin and pulled it. “Not too tight, now, or it’ll tear. Just enough to keep it out of the way. Get it all in one, or it’ll take more than one go. Those hurt more, I hear.”

“Fuck you,” Johnny grunted.

Matty ignored him and carried on. His jaw dropped in concentration, seeming to mouth random words as he cut and pulled on Dylan’s flesh. The corners of his lips were pulled up into a permanent smile.

“Go get the other,” he said, “Quickly now.”

Johnny got up and jogged back to the kitchenette. He pulled the palette knife out. It glowed dim red, and he carried it back carefully, the heat radiating back onto his hands.

Matty gave the skin a harder pull and a slice. The flesh fell away, a long strip from crotch to knee about two fingers wide. Matty curled it and put it straight into one of the pots, burying it in the salt.

Johnny handed Matty the hot knife and took the bloodied one. Dylan was panting, sweat clinging to his forehead. Johnny patted him on the uncut leg.

“Should we give him something to bite on?” Johnny said.

“Who’s gonna hear him out here?” Matty said.

Matty pressed the knife into Dylan’s thigh, full length. Dylan screamed, legs tensing and trying to spread further, away from the heat and pain. He pulled hard on the chain and kicked out. Johnny dove back to avoid him. Danny froze mid-pace, staring with wide eyes. Jorel winced. Charlie stared slack-jawed. Matty traced the wound with the knife, flesh sizzling and smoking.

Matty got up, taking both knives back to the kitchenette. He rinsed both off, the palate knife sizzling under the water. He shoved the palate knife back into the grill. “Your turn.”

Johnny trembled. He sat back up, not daring to look up at Dylan. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Just do it fucking quick,” Dylan spat.

Johnny took the knife from Matty. It shook with his hand as he knelt back up.

“Push his leg back,” Matty said, “Don’t let him escape.”

“He ain’t going nowhere,” Johnny grumbled, but pushed on Dylan’s leg.

Dylan was panting hard, chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm. He trembled under Johnny’s grip, blisters already forming along his leg. There was an unignorable smell of burning in the air. Johnny pressed the knife as high as he dared and carved in.

He was slower than Matty had been. Matty had to pull on flesh gently, Johnny trembling as he worked the knife down. Dylan whimpered and cried above them.

“There we go,” Matty cooed, “All in one.”

He took the flesh, curled it and buried it with the other. He put the lid on, already labelled ‘Dylan Alvarez’.

Johnny got up and staggered to the kitchenette. He threw the little knife in the sink and pulled the other out. It was already red again, even if the glow was a little dimmer than before. He took it back over, staring hard at the blunt blade like the soft glow was going to wake him up from what could only be the amalgamation of his worst nightmare and his worst memories.

“Before it cools, Johnny,” Matty said, “Or we might have to do it again.”

Johnny shoved the blade against Dylan’s skin. Dylan howled again, curling in on himself as his flesh singed and smoked.

Danny collapsed onto the rug, covering his face in his hands. Jorel was half-hidden behind Charlie, slack-jawed but unable to look away. Charlie was torn between retching, laughing, and touching himself.

Johnny dropped the knife and fell away from Dylan, covering his mouth and dry-heaving. He shuffled away, tears dripping down his face, Dylan’s blood clinging to his hands.

Matty stood and unfastened the straps. Dylan’s legs jerked out as they were released but stayed spread wide. Thick white blisters were forming along the edges of the wounds, bordering burning red.

“Try not to move,” Matty said.

“Thanks, man,” Dylan panted, “Some fucking great advice there. Appreciate it.”

Matty got up and headed back to the coffee table. He took a first aid kit out of the little mountain, tore it open and pulled out a roll of burn dressing and all the bandages.

“Jorel, could you get Danny off the floor?” he said, “And Charles, we’re gonna need all the dressings, bandages and possibly the tape. Save a job later.”

“Who put you in charge?” Charlie said.

“I did. You arguing?”

Charlie blinked. “Bandages, dressing, tape, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Charlie grabbed the kit and started to pull it apart. Jorel got up and shook Danny gently. Danny groaned as Jorel dragged him up and sat him between himself and Charlie.

Matty took the supplies back to Dylan and sat back down in front of him. He pressed the dressing onto Dylan’s thigh, and Dylan hissed.

Johnny dragged himself back over to the pair, staring at the carved flesh like it was the only thing he was awake for. He smoothed the dressing down gently over Dylan’s other leg, covering the wound and blisters in one feather-light stroke. He tied the bandage down at his knee and began to wrap it in firm layers up Dylan’s leg.

Dylan whimpered at every slight pressure to his inner thigh. By the time Johnny and Matty knotted the bandages off at his hips, he was crying, tears flowing free down his face. Johnny checked Matty’s bandage work over, grunting about knots on the inside. Matty got up and unlocked the chains behind the chair.

Dylan threw himself forward and shoved Johnny away. He pressed his hands to his knees, trembling. Dense red snaked around his forearms, his hands a little blue with blood loss. He panted down at his bandaged legs.

Matty put a careful hand on Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan shook as he started to sob, not even raising his hands to cover his face. He fell forwards and Johnny rose to meet him.

Johnny pushed Dylan up, wrapped an arm around his waist and lifted. He stood, Dylan slung over his shoulder like a kit bag. He carried Dylan back to the sofas and laid him down over one. Dylan groaned and slung one leg over the back of the sofa. Matty got a beer and a plastic tub of something from the fridge.

“You hungry?” Matty called.

“Nah, man,” Dylan grunted, “I feel kinda sick.”

Johnny shook his head at Matty. Matty put the tub in the microwave and opened the beer. Johnny shifted the cushions of the sofa around under Dylan’s legs. Dylan grunted and moaned low.

The microwave dinged. The warehouse flooded with the smell of tomatoes and spice as Matty opened the microwave. He dumped the food into a bowl and took them over to the sofas. He put the bowl and a spoon in Danny’s lap and put the beer in Dylan’s hand. Danny blinked at him, then at the bowl, then him again. Dylan took a long swig like it was the first drink he’d had all day.

Matty pulled Jorel to his feet. Jorel stood and followed, grabbing Johnny as they passed him. Johnny had the mirror, more lines re-cut on the glass.

Danny poked at the food and took a small bite. He hummed and took another bite. Jorel kicked his shoes off by the rug and let his trousers drop.

“Hey, Matty, you made this?” Danny said.

“Yeah,” Matty said, “Fresh yesterday. I’m planning moussaka in the next couple of days. You’re welcome around. That goes to all of you.”

“I think I’m gonna be good, thanks,” Johnny said.

Jorel sat in the chair and let Matty strap his leg down.

“You’re missing out, man,” Danny said, “This is fucking delicious.”

“I’ve had Matty’s cooking before, yeah,” Johnny said, “Four months. I was here four fucking months. What do you think I ate?”

“So what’s your problem?”

“You know what you’re eating, right?”

“Uh… I think it’s a curry of some sort? There’s tomato, there’s pepper, there’s this ground pork, it’s real soft-”

“It’s person.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a human person.”

Danny froze, spoon in his mouth. He blinked at Victim and lowered the spoon. “A human person?”

Johnny nodded.

“But it tastes so good,” Danny said, “What the fuck.”

Matty grinned. “You’re welcome round to eat. I’ll tell you next time I’ve got something in.”

Jorel leant back over the chair, allowing Johnny to twist the chain around his wrists and loop it around the back of the seat. Matty neatened the lines and helped Jorel snort it. Jorel shuddered and sighed.

“If this ain’t some good shit, I’m gonna kick Yoro’s ass,” Jorel said.

“It’s some good shit,” Dylan called.

“Fucking good.”

“And there’s curry when you’re ready for it,” Matty said, “It’s kind of like a keema.”

“I don’t really eat meat.”

“It’s human. Does that really count?”

Johnny leant over Jorel and smacked Matty on the forehead. Matty glared at him.

“I’ll think about it,” Jorel said, “I’ll figure it out.”

Johnny smacked Jorel on the shoulder.

“What? It’s not animal.”

“No, but it’s still being chained to wall and tortured!” Johnny said.

“You ain’t any kinder.”

Johnny sat on the floor in front of Jorel, picked up the knife and dug it straight into Jorel’s thigh. Jorel yelped, legs trying to twitch away as Johnny carved down his thigh.

“Johnny, it ain’t kicked in yet!” Charlie yelled.

“I took this sober, so can you assholes,” Johnny yelled back.

Jorel whimpered and gnashed his teeth. Matty caught Johnny’s wrist.

“You’re going hurt him worse than you want to,” Matty said, “Hold still a minute.”

“I just want this shit over with.”

“And it will be, give it a minute.”

Matty stood and coaxed Jorel’s mouth open. He took the grill from Jorel’s jaw and took it back to the kitchenette to drop in a mug.

Johnny took a deep breath and continued to cut. Jorel yelled out, knee jerking to kick Johnny in the head.

Matty ran back to the pair, snatching the palate knife from the grill as he passed. Jorel screamed at Johnny, animalistic, and pulled on the chain. Danny flinched into Charlie’s side, and Dylan sat bolt upright.

Johnny pulled the strip away and dropped it in the salt pot behind him. Jorel trembled in the chair. Matty shoved past Johnny and pressed the hot knife into Jorel’s bleeding thigh.

Jorel howled, legs spread hard against the arms of the chair as his flesh sizzled. He panted as Matty traced the wound, cut a little wider than Matty had wanted. Johnny dragged himself away, knife still clenched in his fist.

Jorel whined as Matty pulled away. He sighed, moaned, and relaxed into the chair.

“Took long enough,” Dylan muttered.

“The **fuck** did you do that for?!” Matty yelled.

“I don’t know,” Johnny said.

“You fucking hurt him!”

“I don’t know.”

“You could have done serious damage!”

“I don’t know.”

“You gotta control yourself! Fucking idiot!”

“I don’t know.”

Matty snatched the small knife back. Johnny slumped and dragged himself out of the way like a kicked puppy.

Jorel moaned, wriggling his sliced leg. Danny had a hand clamped over his mouth, ready to throw up. Charlie was picking through the last of the first aid kits on autopilot. Dylan finished his beer and put the bottle down.

Matty shoved the cleaned palate knife back in the grill. “You do that again,” he said, glaring at Johnny, “And I’m chaining you to the back wall again.”

Johnny shook his head.

“Yeah. Another four months with me. Or how about six this time?”

Johnny shook his head harder.

“Then you gotta pull yourself together. And keep yourself together.”

Johnny rubbed his nose on his arm, streaking a mix of blood across his cheek.

“You need something to eat?”

Johnny nodded.

“There’s tomato sauce in the fridge. Get some rice with it.”

Matty pulled Johnny back up and guided him in the direction of the kitchenette. Johnny stumbled off, still shaking.

Jorel gave Matty a dazed grin. Matty sat by the chair, dug the knife in at Jorel’s crotch and pulled down. Jorel groaned, staring down and watching the knife slice down his thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burning wounds closed isn't generally a good idea, especially if the person doing the burning doesn't have much medical knowledge. Problems like severe blistering, infections festering under the blister, as well as other nasties that come with third degree burns like deep-seated pain.  
> Matty held Johnny captive for four months, and carved the same line into Johnny's inner thighs. One side took multiple attempts, almost causing Johnny to bleed out. Johnny kept kicking and trying to pull away, and broke the belt holding him down.  
> 'Yoro' is a gangster I made up on the spot for Jorel to mention.


	2. Motherfucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jorel eats meat, Danny is hardcore, and Johnny and Charlie pull a 'no homo'.

Johnny dumped a spoon of rice and a spoon of curry in a bowl and started eating it cold.

“You not after just the veggies, man?” Dylan said, “After that little rant.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny said.

“Beer me.”

Johnny grabbed a beer from the fridge and shoved it closed again. A bloody handprint clung to the handle. He opened the beer and took it over to Dylan.

“Where’s ours, man,” Danny said.

“You don’t get any,” Johnny said, “Thins your blood. Can’t risk that.”

“But that shit,” Danny gestured to Jorel, “Was okay?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Or what, you’ll do that to me?”

“Damn right. Both legs. No coke.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Dylan said.

“What you gonna do about it?”

“Matt!”

Matty dropped Jorel’s skin in the salt pot, “Give me a minute!”

Johnny pressed a hand hard into Dylan’s inner thigh. Dylan hissed, batting at Johnny’s arm.

Matty took the palate knife to Jorel and sealed his thigh. Jorel’s howl was weak. Matty cleaned the knives, put the palate knife back in the grill and started to unstrap Jorel. Dylan’s blisters split in Johnny’s grip, blood and pus squeezing out ad Dylan hissed.

“What’s going on?” Matty called.

“Johnny’s threatening Danny,” Dylan called back. Johnny’s grip on his leg tightened and he yelped. “He’s hurting me, Matt!”

“Johnny get your ass over here!”

Johnny put his bowl of food down and went over. “What?”

“Stop fucking around. I need you to move the guys around, I’m not big enough.”

“Size does matter, then.”

Matty glared at him. He unchained Jorel’s arms. “Get some bandages on Jorel.”

Johnny growled at him but obeyed, and gathered up an armful of supplies. Jorel dropped his arms forwards, poking at the blisters and yelping at the pain.

“Don’t do that,” Matty pulled Jorel’s hands away, “Fucking idiot.”

“Should have left him strapped down,” Johnny said, “He’s fucking delirious.”

Matty pulled Jorel’s chin up to face him. “He’s glazed over.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Johnny, this ain’t good.”

Johnny pressed a burn dressing over Jorel’s thigh. “He’ll be fine.”

“He’s lost too much blood.”

“He’ll make more.”

“Johnny!”

Johnny started to wrap the bandages tight against Jorel’s skin.

“Johnny, he’s gonna pass out!”

“Then let him pass out, he won’t move!”

“ **Johnny**!”

“What?! You wanna take him to hospital? You wanna explain this to a doctor?”

Matty stared at him.

Johnny tied the bandage off. “We’re too far gone. We’ve been too far gone since the day you chained me to the fucking wall.”

“How we gonna explain this to a coroner if he fucking ODs?” Matty said.

“He’s not ODing. Just higher than usual. He’ll come back down.”

Matty stroked his fingers down Jorel’s face. Jorel just smiled at him, breathing slow.

Johnny wrapped Jorel’s other leg and lifted him bridal-style. Matty closed the pot and followed them back to the sofas. Johnny put Jorel down on the empty sofa and adjusted the cushions around him.

“We should have picked some pillows up,” Johnny said, “For the support.”

“Bit late now,” Charlie said.

“We’ll manage,” Dylan said. He sat up, closing his legs with a slow hiss.

“Take it easy, man,” Johnny said, “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just keep the beers coming.”

“Beer...” Jorel sighed.

“Okay, yeah, he’s okay,” Matty said.

Danny giggled. “Who’s turn is it now?”

“Yours, now you’ve asked,” Johnny said.

“You stay away from me.”

“Fine. I’ll keep an eye on Jorel, so long as you let Matty cut you. Dare you to do it sober.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Matty said, “He’s bitter.”

“I’ve noticed,” Danny said. He stood and let Matty lead him to the chair.

Jorel mumbled some incoherent vowels. Johnny patted his head and pulled his food back into his lap.

“M’hungry,” Jorel mumbled, reaching for Johnny’s food.

“No, Johnny said, “This has got meat in it.”

“M’hungry.”

“No. It’s got **person** in it.”

“M’hungry.” Jorel fumbled for Johnny’s fork, missed, and shoved his hand into the cold curry.

Johnny tutted and pulled him away. He rolled Jorel back up on the sofa. Jorel licked at his fingers, and Johnny grimaced.

“Dude, you’re meant to be vegan,” Johnny said.

“M’hungry,” Jorel sucked on his fingers.

“Just give him the food, dude,” Dylan said, “It’ll sober him up.”

Johnny sat Jorel up. Jorel groaned at the shifting pain. Johnny sat behind Jorel with the bowl, pulled Jorel into his lap, and scooped up a forkful.

“Dude, I don’t think-” Charlie started.

He was cut short as Danny yelled behind him. Danny strained on the straps, head lolled down, Matty between his legs.

“You gotta admit,” Charlie said, “That looks pretty suggestive.” His hands were folded firm in his lap.

Johnny rolled his eyes and held the forkful up to Jorel. “Here comes the train, open your fucking mouth.”

Jorel opened his mouth and Johnny shoved the fork in. Jorel gagged, swallowed the food whole, gagged again and opened his mouth for another forkful.

Johnny grimaced but fed him. “Your breath stinks.”

“S your mom’s pussy,” Jorel grunted.

Daniel screamed as the palate knife traced the wound. He tugged hard on the chain, legs tense.

“You have to relax, you’re pulling wider,” Matty said.

“Fuck you,” Danny said, “Fuck **both** of you.”

“Fuck you too,” Johnny called.

Danny panted. “Get on with it. Get **fucking** on with it.”

“Dude, you didn’t take the coke?” Charlie said.

Danny shook his head. He glared hard at Matty as he lowered the knife again.

“Fuck,” Johnny said, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Jorel took the fork, managing to lift a large forkful to his mouth. The sauce smeared across his mouth, deep red and clinging.

Daniel threw his head back and screamed. Johnny watched with a grimace, arm tight around Jorel as Jorel ate. Dylan was sat bolt upright, looking at Danny, then away, then Danny, then away, lost between horror and awe. Charlie had craned his head back to watch, hands still tight in his lap.

Matty pulled the skin away and dropped it in the pot, got up, and ran for the other knife. He spat some selected words and shoved the knife back into the grill. Johnny eased Jorel off of his lap and gathered up more burn dressings.

“It’s not hot enough,” Matty said, “It’s won’t seal the skin.”

“How longs it going to take?” Johnny said.

“I don’t know. A few minutes.”

“Danny ain’t got a few minutes.”

“Get a gun,” Danny called.

“What?” Matty said, “No one’s gonna shoot you.”

“Just the bullet” Danny said, “Gunpowder.”

“You got a gun here, right?” Charlie said.

“Underside of the table,” Matty said.

Charlie crawled under the coffee table and pulled out one of the rifles taped underneath. “Damn, Matty.”

Matty checked the knife again, and shoved it back under the grill. Charlie opened one of the rifles and tipped the bullets out.

“What now?” Charlie said.

“Now, we need the gunpowder,” Danny said, “Pull the firing pin out, super careful.”

“How am I supposed to that?”

“Get me some pliers,” Dylan said.

“Dude, you’re still coming back down,” Johnny said.

“Get me some fucking pliers, and pass me the bullets.”

Matty pulled a pair of pliers from the kitchenette drawer, and passed them and the bullets to Dylan. Dylan held the first bullet close to his face, peering in concentration.

Danny panted through his teeth. “Any day now, Dilly.”

Dylan passed the bullet to Matty. Matty took it to Danny and shook a thin, careful layer over the bleeding wound. Johnny brought the second bullet over once Dylan pulled the pin out, and Matty poured it over the wound.

Matty pulled his lighter from his pocket. “You ready?”

“Yes!” Danny screamed.

“Johnny, get a wet cloth,” Dylan called, “Run.”

Matty pressed the lighter to Danny’s knee and pressed the clicker. The flame sped up Danny’s leg in a sear of smoke. Danny screamed, pitch climbing as the flame reached his crotch.

Johnny threw the cloth, and it landed just as Danny’s boxers caught. The fire died, Matty picking up the cloth to dab it down Danny’s leg. Danny panted. Sweat clung to his face and chest, and he was shaking.

Johnny smoothed burn dressings over the wounds and bandaged them. Danny breathed hard through his teeth, tense in his straps and chains. Matty covered the pot and sat to watch Johnny finish tying the knots off.

Danny stroked the bandages as Johnny and Charlie unstrapped him. He pulled Johnny into a tight hug and let Johnny lift him and carry him like a koala back to the sofas.

“I’m sorry,” Danny mumbled, “We should have noticed you were missing.”

“I told you I was going to rehab,” Johnny said. He put Danny down and tried to pull away but Danny was still clinging to his shirt.

“You didn’t contact anybody for **four whole months** ,” Danny said, “We should have know something was up.”

“You got your own lives, you can’t worry about my fucking rehab all the time.”

“But it was four months! No heads-up, just one day you were shaking and said you needed to go into therapy, next day you were gone!”

“Rehab’s like that.”

“But you weren’t in rehab!” Danny shrieked. He shook Johnny, and Johnny fell almost on top of him, arms shooting out to brace himself. Danny continued to shake him, voice cracked, “You were here! And Matty was… he was doing this **shit** to you and then just waltzing into the studio like he hadn’t seen you! Like everything was fucking normal!”

“Danny, calm down,” Johnny said.

“Fucking **sicko** was torturing you and hurting you, and we just didn’t even think!”

“Daniel!” Johnny yelled, “Calm down!”

Danny flinched and let go. He started to curl up, winced, and spread his bandaged legs again. Johnny sat down on the coffee table. Five pairs of eyes stared them down.

“Look me in the eye,” Johnny said, “And tell me how many people you killed in that four months.”

Danny stared at his legs. “Two.”

“Look at me.”

Danny looked up. “I killed two people while you were here. A man who was chasing teenage girls around the park, and a woman who bragged about lifting make up.”

“Fucking scumbags.”

“What did you do to deserve this shit?”

“I stayed addicted. I came here for coke, I let Matty tie me down for coke, I let him give me coke and then he did what he wanted. Should have guessed it was gonna get fucked up when he brought me to a warehouse and tied me to a goddamned metal chair, but hey; coke fucks your common sense.”

“Or maybe you never had any in the first place,” Dylan said.

“Yeah, maybe that.”

Jorel laughed. He put the bowl down and wiped his mouth on his arm.

“How you holding up, man?” Johnny asked.

“A little dizzy, but nothing I ain’t handled before,” Jorel said.

“Sorry, man. I just snapped.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“That’s fair.”

Charlie kicked his shoes off and dropped his trousers. Matty groaned.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Matty said.

“I don’t know what you were expecting, dude,” Charlie said.

“ **Right now**?”

“I didn’t know I needed your permission to have a boner, **Matthew**!”

Matty rubbed his temples. Charlie sat down in the chair and slung his legs over the arms. A tent stood proud in his crotch.

“Unbelievable,” Dylan said, “How long you fucking had that?”

“On and off all evening,” Charlie said.

“You got a boner over your homies getting tortured?”

“It sounds real fucked up when you say it like that.”

“Fucking **does it**?”

Matty groaned and started chaining Charlie down. “Johnny, get over here, I ain’t dealing with this shit on my own.”

“It looks like you’re doing fine to me,” Johnny said.

“You remember you have to cut me, right?”

“Oh, fuck. Yeah.” Johnny got up, Danny letting go of his shirt. “You guys good?”

“Beer?” Jorel said, “And more food? Please?”

“So we’re cool with eating people?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Okay, dude. Whatever your fucking logic is.”

Matty strapped Charlie down, determined not to look up at him. Johnny popped beers, and got Jorel and Dylan a bowl of curry each. Jorel dug straight into his.

Dylan took a small bite. “Shit, that’s soft.”

Jorel grunted in response.

Charlie rolled his head back, coke clinging to his nose. “Ah, fuck.”

“You think that’s gonna go?” Matty said.

“I dunno, dude,” Charlie said, “Never known you have problems with a hard-on.”

“I’m not actually gay, Charles.”

“You ain’t fooling me.”

“I will fucking gag you.”

“Freaky.”

Matty passed Johnny the knife. “I ain’t dealing with this fucker.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Pussy.”

“I’m not putting my hands that close to Charlie’s hard-on. You know he’d never let me live it down.”

“It’s fine, just say no homo.”

“That’s not going to work! You know it won’t!”

“Shut up, dillhole,” Johnny sat down in front of Charlie, “No homo.”

“No homo,” Charlie agreed.

Johnny dug the knife in and pulled. Charlie groaned as the blood swelled and dripped down his thigh. Johnny pulled on the flesh and it peeled away by the knife, Charlie shaking.

Matty pulled the palate knife from the grill. Weak white stripes glowed in the flat blade.

Johnny pulled the strip away and curled it in the salt pot. “Whenever you’re ready, Matty.”

Matty watched the blade as he took it over. The white faded into the red, and Matty pressed it into the wound.

Charlie screamed and bucked. Johnny had to push him back down by the hip as the hot blade pressed closer to Charlie’s stiffened crotch. Charlie’s scream warped to a broken screech as Matty pulled away, dense burn throbbing in his thigh.

“Fucking **really**?” Matty said.

“What?” Johnny said.

Matty gestured to Charlie’s crotch.

“Dude, would you quit focusing on his dick?”

“How are you just **ignoring** it?”

“By not being a little faggot, now go put the knife back in the grill.”

Charlie giggled. “Faggot.”

Matty growled and stormed back to the kitchenette. He shoved the knife back in the grill.

“Alright, pissy-pants, calm down!” Jorel yelled at him. Matty flipped him the bird.

Johnny pressed into Charlie’s leg again. Matty got himself a beer.

“Hey!” Dylan called, “Don’t drink that before you been cut!”

“A few mouthfuls of cheap beer ain’t gonna make me bleed out,” Matty snapped.

“Leave him alone,” Johnny called, “He’s just scared.”

“Fuck you.”

“You better be polite to him,” Jorel said, “He’s about to tie you to a fucking chair.”

“Fuck you too.”

Charlie gave a long moan. He twitched, and Johnny had to grip his thigh tight to hold him still enough to work.

“Could do with some help with horn-dog over here,” Johnny called.

“Fuck you,” Matty called back.

“Fucking dammit,” Johnny pulled away from Charlie’s leg to tighten the strap. The piece of skin, just over four inches long, hung from Charlie’s thigh.

“Don’t do that!” Matty yelled.

“Come fucking help me then!”

Matty dropped the beer and ran over. He smoothed the skin back against Charlie’s thigh, holding it there as Johnny pulled the strap tight.

“You fucking idiot,” Matty said, “He could have gotten something in it!”

“I’m not a medical expert!” Johnny said.

“You don’t have to be! That’s common sense!”

“He ain’t got none of that!” Dylan called.

Johnny laughed. He gave Charlie’s leg a shake and passed the knife to Matty.

“Go grab the anti-septic,” Matty said, “And be quick about it.”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny grumbled.

Matty peeled the skin back up and continued the cut. His cutting was a little shallower than Johnny’s, thinning the wound down. Charlie whined and groaned above him, still trying to wriggle in the seat.

The skin sliced away and Matty curled it into the salt pot. He took the anti-septic from Johnny, twisted the lid off, and poured it straight onto Charlie’s opened thigh.

Charlie howled. The liquid seemed to bite into his blood, running thin down his skin and onto the concrete. The sting penetrated the wound, burrowing into his thigh and under his skin, like the pain was trying to wrap itself around his leg.

Johnny winced. He ran for the palate knife and brought it over, Matty dropping out the way to let Johnny press the hot blade into the wound.

Charlie’s howl broke into yelled sobs. Johnny dropped the knife and pressed the burn dressing to the other leg, Charlie bucking at random away from him. Matty took the knives back to the kitchenette.

Johnny tied the bandages around Charlie’s thighs. Charlie continued to cry, small damp patch sat in the front of his boxers. Johnny ignored it, and the remaining half-erection.

Matty cleaned the knives, put the palate knife under the grill and downed the rest of his beer. Johnny unstrapped Charlie and lifted him out of the chair. Charlie hissed and clung to Johnny. Johnny sat Charlie down next to Jorel and got him a beer and bowl of curry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before Jorel became overly 'militant vegan' over on instagram.   
> "Here come the train, open your fucking mouth," is probably the best Johnny dialogue I'm going to write. "Hey; coke fucks your common sense," is a close second.  
> I'm aware that pulling the pin out of a bullet to get the gunpowder out would probably take about as long as heating up a palate knife in a grill, but I found this technique while I was researching sealing skin for this fic and thought it would be an interesting way to change it up. Writing the same torture over and over gets tedious, and if it's tedious for me to write it'll be tedious for you guys to read. Gotta switch that shit up.  
> If you're ever in a situation where you need to burn a wound closed, you don't actually want the metal to be white-hot as this would burn far too deep into your flesh. You want it to be red-hot to just close the wound. 
> 
> Sorry about the late update, I've been ill. Final chapter and epilogue will (hopefully) be up next Wednesday.


	3. We're a way of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Matty gets a taste of his own torture.
> 
> Also, the actual "eating other bandmates" idea that was the whole reason I wrote this. Took me about 6,500 words to get there, but I got there.

Matty stripped and sat on the chair. The metal seat was warm and sticky with mixed blood, and Matty grimaced at it.

Johnny took the curved knife and walked over to Matty with a grin. “Hold this for me.”

Matty took the knife. Johnny guided his hands behind his back and wrapped the chain tight around them, looping it around the back of the chair. Matty wriggled his hands, trying to keep his circulation.

Johnny grabbed Matty by the leg and pulled. Matty had to lift himself, propped up on the back of the chair, to follow Johnny’s pull. Johnny strapped him down firm, and let go to tie the other leg down in the same way.

Matty wasn’t even sat in the chair, but over the arms with his legs spread as wide as they would go. He had to arch back, his arms chained too tight to the back of the chair to accommodate his position.

“I’m not fucking flexible enough for this,” Matty said.

“I don’t care, at least you get to be dressed,” Johnny said.

“Just get on with it.”

Johnny grinned, circling Matty like a vulture. He took the knife and continued his circling. He stroked a hand over Matty’s head, combing through his hair and pulling it out of its bunch. Matty growled at him. Johnny laughed and twirled a bunch of Matty’s hair in his fingers.

“Get off me,” Matty growled, “Get on with it.”

“No.” Johnny gave the hair a sharp pull, “You tortured me for four fucking months. I’m having fun.”

“I didn’t torture you for **fun**. I kept you for rehab.”

“Most fucked up kind of rehab I ever heard of.”

Johnny seized most of Matty’s hair and pulled. Matty yelped as Johnny continued his circle, slower, dragging Matty’s head with him. Matty twisted as far as the chains and straps would let him, hissing.

Johnny let go, and Matty flinched away from him. Johnny finished his circle and knelt in front of Matty.

Matty tensed as Johnny pressed the knife into his skin. It bit in, pain sharp and seeming to grow as Johnny peeled down. Matty shuddered a sigh.

“Just keep breathing, man,” Johnny said, “Its over faster than you think.”

“Shut up and get on with it then,” Matty hissed.

Matty panted through his teeth as the knife worked its slow way down. His hands were tight around his chains, arms and legs tense.

Johnny cut the skin away and curled it into the last salt pot. He got up, got the hot knife and pressed it straight into Matty’s flesh.

Matty screamed. His peeled skin sizzled under the heat, smoke curling from the blade. Johnny traced the wound to Matty’s knee.

“It’s easier like this,” Johnny said, “Can’t move at all.”

“Fuck you,” Matty hissed.

“And your leg’s completely exposed. Surprised you didn’t think of this.”

“Fuck you.”

Johnny looked up at Matty. He grabbed the underside of Matty’s hip and pulled Matty up as high as he would go. Johnny pressed close to the chair, until his hips were pressed into Matty’s upper thighs, and he ground against Matty’s crotch.

“You sure you wanna speak to me like that right now?” Johnny said.

Matty panted through his teeth, arms and legs pulled until they felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets.

“What do we say, Matthew.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Say it louder. I want the guys to hear you.”

Matty took a deep breath. “I’m sorry!”

“Better,” Johnny let Matty go again.

Matty dropped the inch with a grunt. Johnny took the palate knife back to the grill and shoved it under.

Charlie leant on Jorel, both men eating slow. Danny and Dylan watched Matty from across the warehouse, cradling their beers.

Johnny returned to Matty and started straight on the other leg. The blood would run down the underside of his thigh, not flowing quite thick enough to drip onto the chair. It ran down his legs, under the straps, and had pooled in the sock of his burnt leg.

Matty panted at the pain. Johnny peeled, slow and purposeful. Matty’s pants sped up until he was barely able to breathe, chest rising and falling too fast to suck in the damp air he needed.

Johnny cut the strip away and curled it into the pot. He dug his fingers into the salt, scooped a little up and flicked it onto the wound.

Matty screamed. The chair rattled on the bolts as Matty tried to pull away. Johnny flicked more salt at him, cackling.

“You fucker!” Matty howled, “Stop it, you bastard!”

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

Johnny got up and grabbed the palate knife. He swung it as he walked back, slow, grinning.

“Fuck you,” Matty repeated.

Johnny pressed the tip of the knife into Matty’s thigh and flattened it into Matty’s skin. The pain rolled down Matty’s thigh, smoking. Matty screamed, head thrown back.

Johnny pulled away and waved the knife in his hands. He lifted Matty’s shirt and poked him in the stomach with the warm tip, Matty flinching away.

Matty shook in the binds, the straps cutting into his shins. The blood welled underneath, letting him slip half an inch further.

Johnny smacked the knife against Matty’s stomach, burnt flesh unsticking from the blade onto the chair and Matty’s front. The blade had cooled too fast to leave anything more severe than a series of pink marks in Matty’s skin.

Johnny dropped the knife and pulled Matty by the hair again. Matty yelped, and Johnny slapped him across the face.

“Stop!” Matty yelled.

Johnny smacked him again, grinning. Matty gasped and spluttered.

“I should keep you like this for four months,” Johnny said, “See how you fucking like it.”

“We’re meant to help each other out,” Matty said, “That was the whole point of this.”

“It wasn’t when you did it to me.”

Matty stared at him.

“Give me one good reason not to leave you like this.”

“I haven’t got one.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just slit your throat. Right here, right now.”

“I haven’t got one.”

“You’re fucked in the head.”

“We all are. That’s why we’re here.”

“Why’d you suggest this?" Johnny shook Matty by his hair, "You wanted to torture everyone so fucking bad?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I wanted to know how it felt. If you could take it then so can I.”

“And the rest? They didn’t have to go through it too.”

“Jorel wanted proof we had each others’ backs. Danny wanted to prove he could handle a little pain.  Charlie wanted to know if he could hold a boner. Dylan wasn’t about to argue.”

Johnny let go, and Matty sat back up with a relieved sigh. His hair was stood on end, slicked up with a mix of blood from Johnny’s fingers.

Johnny left him chained there for several hours. No one argued with him on it, and found Matty unchained and asleep on Johnny’s side when they woke up the next morning.

* * *

 

** Epilogue **

Matty shallow fried the pieces. Ten days later, all of them still hissed when they walked too fast, still moved slow when they dressed or stood or leaned, still avoided slim-fitting trousers.

Johnny sat on the counter, jug pressed into his elbow. He wriggled his hand, wound in his arm dribbling blood thick and fast into the jug. Matty took the jug, and Danny wiped and dressed the wound.

Matty whisked the blood with a fork, adding sriracha and cayenne.

“I get the feeling I don’t need to add salt,” he said.

“Hey, fuck you,” Johnny said.

Matty laughed and put the jug down. He poured the oil off the pan and put it back over the heat. He poured the blood mix over.

The blood bubbled around the flesh. Matty leant over it, watching.

“We nearly ready?” Danny said.

“Yeah, two minutes,” Matty said, “Pour drinks, yeah?”

Danny grabbed the mugs from the cupboard and the bottle of vodka from the counter. He set the mugs out on the coffee table and half-filled each.

“Take it easy, man,” Dylan said, “You wanna puke it all straight back up again?”

“Shut up, lightweight,” Danny said.

Jorel snorted.

Matty clattered in the kitchen. He set the pieces of flesh down on a chopping board and sliced each one into three.

Johnny followed him over to the sofa. Jorel and Charlie put their guitars down as Matty put the board down.

“So what now?” Dylan said.

Matty sat down. “This is Charlie,” he pointed to one pile of flesh, “Jorel, Danny, me, you. Get a piece of each, and eat.”

Danny picked a piece of Dylan up. “This is fucking wild.”

“We’ve come this far,” Johnny picked up a piece of each and gathered them in his hand like chips. The red sauce clung to his skin.

Charlie got a piece of Jorel and bit straight into it. It was chewy like jerky, salty, and the sauce was nicely warm.

“So this is it,” he said around his mouthful, “We’re like blood brothers. But worse.”

“Basically,” Johnny said. He put a piece in his mouth whole, not wanting to know whom it had come from.

“Fucking good,” Jorel said. He put a piece of Matty in his mouth and chewed hard.

Their Victim cried in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "adding" salt joke Matty made was actually about the fact the flesh was preserved in salt, not Johnny being salty. But it works either way.
> 
> And that concludes this snuff fic. It'll be the last 'plotty' ensemble fic for a while because I've been neglecting some other works in favour for Victimised. Which doesn't mean I'm stopping Victimised, just that I'll be writing random fics longhand and typing them up when they're done, which is a lengthier process but works better for me fitting it around work and other projects.  
> In the meantime, go get a nice warm bath to cheer up. Or if you don't like baths (like me) then go get a shower, rinse your hair and really scrub at your scalp. Just go de-stress, self-care is important.


End file.
